


No Matter What The Weather, We're Together

by us_against_theworld



Series: She Waits [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Breeding Kink, Canonical Character Death, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Horseback Riding, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Self-Indulgent, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unplanned Pregnancy, just briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21994690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/us_against_theworld/pseuds/us_against_theworld
Summary: Nearly ten years have passed since the violent disbandment of the van der Linde gang. Having stuck by the Marston family til settling on Beechers Hope, you find yourself awaiting John and Uncle's return from the dreaded town of Saint Denis with an unexpected surprise following them
Relationships: Charles Smith (Red Dead Redemption)/Reader
Series: She Waits [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615042
Comments: 22
Kudos: 170





	1. Chapter 1

The last time you had seen Charles had been at Wapiti, after bringing Eagle Flies back to die in front of his father. If you closed your eyes you could still remember the smell of oil fed flames clinging to your clothes, Eagle Flies tacky blood coating your hands where you’d uselessly tried to staunch the bleeding. After the boy had drawn his last breath you, Charles and Arthur had agreed that you and Arthur were most needed back at camp, looking out for what was left of the women while Charles helped the tribe escape the army’s coming rage. You’d agreed under the firm understanding that Charles would reunite with you back at camp, that you’d face whatever ending the van der Linde gang was destined for _together_. You could still remember the way his lips tasted, hands locked tight around your waist in a desperate embrace.

But nothing ever went to plan, in those final days. That had been nine years ago. Between arriving back to camp and the train robbery, you’d discovered you were pregnant. Shock, fear, and elation warred in your chest; what did you know about being a mother? How would Charles react? Did he even want a child? When you told Arthur, the ear splitting smile that cracked his gaunt face was enough to quiet your fears for the time being. That was the last time you heard him laugh, genuine and loud as he embraced you in a celebratory hug. 

Leaving Arthur to confront Dutch and Micah had been the hardest thing you’d ever done. Tears blurred your vision as he'd all but shoved you onto your horse, squeezing your hand and giving your still flat stomach a soft pat.

_“Make sure that kid hears all about dumbass Uncle Arthur.”_

When John arrived at Copperhead Landing, alone with a familiar hat and satchel, your heart simultaneously mended and shattered all over again. When you told John the news he reacted in much the same way as Arthur, promises of reuniting with Charles on his lips to accompany his bittersweet, crooked smile. You’d went back to Wapiti once John and Abigail were safely holed up in a rundown shack west of Emerald Ranch only to find destruction. Anything left standing on the reservation had been torched to the ground. Carrion crows squawked over the carcasses of dead horses and cattle, shot cleanly through the skull with standard issue service revolvers; you breathed a small sigh of relief when Taima’s dappled hide wasn’t among them. You’d tried tracking the tribe, but the trail was days old at that point and you just were not the tracker your lover was. Returning to John and Abigail, you stayed in bed and cried for two days before you found the strength to get up. The day your daughter had been born had been the hardest day of your life. You’re pretty sure you would’ve died without Abigail’s calm guidance, both on that day and the following year as you learned the ins and outs of being responsible for such a fragile being. Taking on a more domestic role had been hard; not that you ever took any of the girl’s work at camp for granted, but you were used to riding out and doing the dirty work as opposed to cleaning bloody shirts and cooking meals. But those days were over and it was either adapt or die.

Nine years later and here you were; on a dusty spit of land west of Blackwater, living in a rundown, three and a half walled shack while John and Uncle had made a _special trip_ , as John had called it, to Saint Denis. You’d stayed by him, Abigail, and Jack all those years, hoping desperately that Charles was still alive, still searching for you, for the child he didn’t even know about. Contributing where you could, you sang in saloons, took meager jobs cleaning houses or picking the occasional pocket. No one ever pointed a finger at a pregnant woman. Even when Abigail had left, you’d stayed with John. You’d always had a stronger bond with him, what with being in the thick of jobs and shenanigans of the gang as opposed to staying in camp. That’s how you and Charles had fallen in love, between whizzing bullets and the adrenaline high of narrowly escaping capture.

Snapping out of your somber reminiscing at the sound of bare feet running across packed dirt, you watched Morgan chasing a butterfly across the way. She looked so much like her father that it hurt still, her thick black hair shining in the early morning sunlight, wide brown eyes seeming to absorb every detail far better than any eight year old should. She was quiet like Charles, too, even as a baby. You’d shown her the pictures you had of him, even one of her namesake, Uncle Arthur. You told her as much as you could, as much as you knew of her father’s family, his heritage, and felt ashamed at how few questions you could answer.

_There you go, getting lost in the past again,_ your mind whispered. Clearing your thoughts, you stood and began to go about your day. John and Uncle were due back either today or tomorrow so you figured you could have a hot meal waiting for them, if nothing else. You waved Morgan over, fixing a simple breakfast for the pair of you before sending her out with the important task of clearing rocks away from where John’s house was going to be built while you cooked, cleaned dirty cutlery, and took care of the horses. The sun made it’s trip across the clear sky and had just begun to brush the horizon when you heard the stomping of hooves.

“Morgan!” you called urgently.

Dusty feet pitter-pattered to your side, a small hand reaching up to wrap around your gun belt. Piercing eyes peered up at you as you smoothed her sweaty hair back into its ponytail.

“Yes, mama?”

“We might be having visitors, little bee. Go wait inside for me, lock the door?” You pat her flushed cheek while trying to exude a calm air. While you had no doubt in your shooting abilities, it was preferable to spare Morgan having to watch her mother kill someone.

Once you heard the door click and lock slide into place you drew your bolt action rifle, working the bolt to check it was loaded. You took up behind a tree just off the entrance and waited, rifle tucked against your shoulder.

Gradually a familiar, if filthy, brown flop hat crested the hill followed by an equally dirty grey shirt stretched taut over a protruding belly. Letting out the breath you’d been holding with a huff, you lowered the rifle and stepped from behind the tree to saunter towards the entrance to Beecher’s Hope.

“Uncle, you miserable old sack of bones!” you hollered good naturedly. “Ever heard of announcin' your presence? You almost got shot!”

Waving obliviously, Uncle came to a halt next to you and dismounted with only minor difficulties, huffing and puffing as he turned to face you with a near toothless smile.

“How’d you get on?” you asked, clapping his shoulder genially. “Where’s John?”

“Oh he’s comin’, he’s comin’,” the old man sighed. “We got what we went for, sure enough.”

“Uh huh,” you squinted at him suspiciously. “And what exactly was it you went for? John was vague in that annoying, trying to be mysterious way.”

Uncle deflected the question, removing his hat to wipe at his shiny head. “You- you’ll see, all in good time. Now, where is my favorite niece?” He made a show of looking anywhere but at you.

“She’s in the shack, along with supper, which I’m sure is what you were really after.”

Not even feigning offense, Uncle turned on his heels and beat it to the shack, rapping on the door in the code we all used. The door opened to Morgan’s delighted squeal as Uncle moved inside to no doubt single handedly attempt to eat the entire meal you’d made. The man was still gross and inappropriate and lazy but he’d developed a soft spot for Morgan since trailing John back to the ranch, doting on her and even spending some of the money he magically seemed to acquire on little gifts and trinkets for her. Humming amusedly, you turned to lean back against the tree and wait for John, idly flicking the rifle’s bolt between your fingers.

Soon a wagon appeared over the hill, John’s skinny frame blotted out by the sunlight glaring in your eyes. You ducked your head beneath the brim of your hat and stood straight, propping the rifle against the tree and the wagon creaked to a halt, draft hooves the only thing you could see without being blinded by the light.

“Welcome home, Mr. Marston!” you mock bowed. “So, you finally gonna tell me why you went all the way back to that miserable place? You bring me somethin’ nice?”

A scratchy laugh met your ears as you moved to put the waning sun at your back, finally able to meet John’s eyes proper and find his scarred face warped into a lopsided smile. 

“You could say that,” he chuckled elusively. “Brought a friend back to help build the house.”

“A friend,” you repeated slowly, dimly registering the clatter of someone clambering down from the rear of the wagon. “And which friend would that be? The ones hate us or the ones that's in the grou-”

A voice from the back of the wagon called your name. A voice you hadn’t heard in so, _so_ long and yet heard every single night before you fell asleep. It was still as warm and deep as you remembered, wrapping around your heart like sun-warmed cotton. Your breath caught in your throat as your lungs forgot how to function. John, who was now practically beaming at you, nodded towards the voice before turning on his heel and heading to the shack.

Slowly, achingly, feeling every muscle and bone in your body shift, you turned to find Charles standing by the corner of the wagon, beautiful as the last time you’d seen him almost a decade ago. Even the crickets seemed to fall silent around you, like you were in your own little bubble, your own perfect slice of time. He’d grown his hair back out to spill over those broad shoulders, an eagle feather fluttering to one side. There were new scars on his hands and face, ones you didn't know the story behind, new lines creasing his eyes and mouth wrought by worry and stress and time. His eyes bored into you, wide and afraid, like if he blinked you'd disappear.

You don’t remember moving; there was simply the time, _years_ , where you weren’t touching him and suddenly you were in his arms again, hands still solid and strong as you remember molding you to his chest. Your knees gave out and he went with you to the ground, lifting you so he took the brunt of the fall and placing you back across his thighs. Your fingers, your lips skimmed along his cheek, brushed across the lightning scar on his jaw until your lips met. It was like a bolt of electricity shot up your spine, waking a part of your brain that had kept those feelings and memories on lockdown, too afraid of never feeling his touch again or smelling that mint and tobacco aroma. The kiss turned wet and you realized you were crying, a keening, wounded sound tearing out of your throat that you had no control over. You both pulled back after endless minutes that could’ve been hours, drinking in the others features and the changes time apart had wrought on them. Charles pried a hand away from your cheek to brush the hair out of your face and cradle your neck, leaning in for another kiss when-

“Mama!”

Eyes widening, Charles seemed to freeze beneath you. “Mama?” he whispered softly, the word rolling out of his mouth with the difficulty of a new word in a foreign language. You bit your lip, heart thundering for an entirely different reason now.

“Morgan, I told you to stay in the house!” John’s exasperated voice reached you.

“Why’s mama making that noise, Uncle John? Is that man hurting her?!”

“No, kiddo,’ John sighed. “Come on, I’ll explain insi-”

“John, wait!” you called hoarsely, never breaking eye contact with Charles. You reached for his hand and stood shakily, keeping a firm grip on the only person that had ever steadied you. Turning towards the shack on wobbly legs, you wiped your eyes as Charles fell into step at your side. His grip turned almost crushing when Morgan came into view, inky mop of hair spilling over her shoulders in a mirror image of her father, who she was currently staring at with wide, curious eyes. Giving Charles’ hand a final squeeze, you slipped from his grasp to crouch in front of your daughter to take both of her hands into your still trembling ones.

“I’m ok, little bee.” Behind you, Charles made a soft, wounded noise. He’d always called you little bird, _because of how sweet you sing_ , he’d said softly some long lost night amidst the crackle of campfire and the whisper of tree boughs. “Sometimes people do funny stuff when they’re really, really happy.”

You could tell Morgan was listening but her inquisitive eyes kept flickering between your face and Charles, lingering on him longer and longer as small pieces began clicking together in her brain.

“You remember the pictures I showed you, bee? Of me and Uncle John and Uncle Arthur and your daddy?” Morgan nodded solemnly, eyes now glued to Charles, who likewise seemed incapable of looking away.

“Is that him?” she whispered, voice high and reedy.

You gave her a watery smile, tears still close to the surface.

“Yeah, baby. Do you want-?”

But Morgan was already on the move, small hand slipping out of yours to walk carefully up to Charles, who crouched down as she moved his way. A storm of emotion was swirling in his eyes, too many for you to even begin to give a name to. It would’ve been funny in a different situation seeing Charles, big, solid, powerful, kneeling down to be at eye level with an eight-year-old. Now your chest just felt fit to explode.

Eyeing him critically and apparently finding whatever she was looking for, Morgan stepped within arm’s length of him. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft when she spoke, so unsure and nervous.

“Where'd you go?”

We both winced at the question. Taking her little hand between his scarred, calloused palms, hands you had seen snap necks and carve delicate figures from solid wood, Charles held her firmly as he spoke.

“I- I had to help my friends run away from some bad people. When they were safe I was supposed to meet back with your mama,” he paused at the word, still so alien on his tongue. “But I couldn’t find her. I looked and looked and never stopped looking until this very second. I’m so, so sorry I haven’t been here,” Charles flickered his gaze up to you, his voice thick with unsaid words. “A moment hasn’t gone by without me wondering where you were, if you were ok. And now that I’m here,” he took both her hands in one large palm, bringing the other to cup her cheek, still soft with lingering baby fat. “I am never, _ever_ leaving again. I promise you.”

Without hesitation Morgan flung herself against Charles’ chest, burying her face in his neck and clinging to him like a tiny octopus. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he stood to his full height only to be met with you barreling into him as well, tears once again running down your face. You had imagined this scenario in your head a hundred, million, trillion times but dreams couldn't begin to touch the sense of peace washing over your soul, like two halves of a ring melding back together, the world feeling more balanced than it had mere hours ago. Charles' large hand slipped back over yours, lips huffing a shaky exhale before pressing a soft kiss to your brow.

A nervous cough sounded behind you, _your family_ , and you turned to find John shuffling his feet in the dust looking remarkably like Jack after being scolded, thumbs tucked into the pockets of his worn jeans and a blush dusting his cheeks. Poor fool always did have terrible timing.

He coughed again before looking at the pair of you in the eye, blunt nails scratching his sunburnt neck.

“Jus’- Jus’ wanted to say, not that it _needs_ sayin’, but when this place is built, well, it’s as much your home as it is mine, for however long you’ll stay.

“Thank you, John,” Charles rumbled from behind you, Morgan’s head still tucked under his chin. “For everything.”

John’s cheeks flared brighter, discomfort at emotional talk clear on his face. “Course, brother. Welcome home.”

At that, John ushered the three of us inside to snag whatever was left of the supper you’d made, Charles hand leaving yours only to hold a spoon or shift Morgan from the perch she clung to on his lap. Her wide eyes rarely left him, questions pouring out of her faster than Charles could keep up. At times he looked terrified in the face of her bald curiosity, no question too prodding or tender to ask. When her eyes began to droop you reached to take her to your shared bedroll only for Charles to stop you with a hand curled around your wrist.

“Let me, please.”

Chest fit to bursting, you led them to your claimed corner of the shack to bed for the night, Morgan slipping off to curl against Charles' side while you took the other, hands still laced together as you laid your head against the steady rise and fall of his chest, heart thumping comfortingly in the sweetest lullaby you could conjure.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops here's some smut for y'all

Sunlight filtered slowly into the little shack at Beecher’s Hope, same as it had every morning since you’d arrived. Birds chirped quietly as though they too were still waking. Normally you rose quickly, if reluctantly, with the light but this morning you fought it, stubbornly clinging to the best dream you had in a long time, your favorite dream; Charles appearing like a ghost from the past, still towering and serene and sweet as ever, meeting his daughter finally, holding you again. Waking up fully and realizing it was nothing more than a dream always hurt more than being shot or stabbed ever had. And it had felt so real this time...

Sighing softly with eyes still screwed shut, you turned to bury your face a bit more into your pillow only to meet with a warm, solid wall. The gentle rise and fall of breathing told you it was a person, their heartbeat thumping steadily against your ear. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d huddled up next to John at night for warmth but it didn’t feel that cold, even at this early hour. You didn’t remember John _radiating_ heat like this either, skinny little blanket stealing shit that he was. Cracking open one sleep crusted eye you found the blanket hog in question laying clear across the room, hat pulled over his eyes and feet sticking in Uncle’s face. 

Heart in your throat, you propped up on one elbow and found Charles sleeping soundly next to you, face relaxed in a way you only ever saw it during sleep.

It wasn’t a dream this time. Yesterday came flooding back to you and you had to slap a hand over your mouth to keep in a startled cry. Even still, a single fat tear managed to slip out and run down your trembling hand.

_It’s real he’s real real real_

Leaning forward slowly to bump your forehead against Charles and brush shaky fingers whisper soft across his face, more tears leaked out even as a smile cracked your face.

_Real real real real_

A large hand came up to engulf your wandering one as thick lashes fluttered open, soft brown eyes gazing fondly back and mouth curling into a small smile. You'd forgotten how light of a sleeper he was.

"Morning, little bird," he rumbled, voice rough and scratchy.

God that had to be the best sound in the world. 

Wrapping a hand around the back of Charles neck you yanked him in for a kiss, quickly getting lost in the feel of lips and tongue and hands brushing any bit of skin they could find until you were dizzy with it.

"I thought-" you gasped as the pair of you broke apart for air, foreheads bumping together. "I thought it was a dream again, I didn’t-" 

"'M here, bird," he whispered softly, one hand carding gently through your hair as the other hauled you on top of him.

In lieu of response, you leaned down to capture his mouth again, heart hammering as Charles crushed you tighter to him. The walls and people around you faded to the background and for a blissful minute, it was just the two of you, warm lips moving to wander down your neck as a shaky gasp slipped from your mouth and-

"Forget about the kid, stop before ya scar _me_ for life," John grumbled hoarsely, startling the pair of you into breaking apart.

A flush burned across your face but neither of you moved, opting to bury your nose in the crook of Charles neck as his warm hand skated soothingly down your spine.

"Sorry," you whispered despite the grin you hid against Charles neck. 

"I'm sure," John groused, rolling onto his feet and shooting us a lighthearted glare. "Better get up or else I'm makin' the coffee." 

"No! I'm up, I'm up," you laughed and rolled off Charles while still keeping a hand twined with his. 

You peeked across his chest to find Morgan still dead to the world, mouth slack and small arms wrapped around a horse toy you’d made out of an old shirt. You’d made it in the final days of your pregnancy when you’d been too swollen and painful to move much; Morgan had clung to it all these years, either laying on her bedroll or snuggled in her arms.

“Let her sleep,” you whispered, tugging Charles to standing before dressing with minimal wandering hands.

The morning passed much the same as yesterday, with the sun flooding the land to fully wake the birds as you, Charles, John and Uncle gathered around the small fire for breakfast. The sunlight seemed brighter this morning though, the air cooler against your cheek, the smell of sweat and horseflesh and hot dirt somewhat dimmed.

The four of you were just beginning to divvy out oatmeal and coffee when the shack door creaked open, Morgan shuffling out barefooted and hair a tangled mop obscuring part of her sleepy face. She padded almost timidly to squeeze between you and Charles, accepting the bowl you’d sat aside for her gratefully.

“Morning, bee,” you pressed a kiss to her head. “You sleep good?”

She nodded and hummed quietly, scarfing down her oatmeal as John and Uncle bickered by your other side. Eating your own food, you noticed she kept turning her head to sneak glances at Charles, who was doing the same when she wasn’t looking. A quick glance, a small turn of the head before ducking to hide in their bowls. Christ, it was like two versions of the same person. Your fond smile caught his gaze but you simply grinned at his raised eyebrow, scraping the last of your oatmeal before turning to the pair of them.

“You wanna fix my hair first, Morgan? Then I’ll do yours?” She perked up a bit at that, finishing the last of her breakfast.

It was a ritual the two of you had developed in the last year. Morgan had wanted to learn how to ‘make her hair pretty’, as she put it, so you’d been leaving your hairstyle in the hands of an eight year old each morning. She was getting pretty good at it, considering her teacher was barely passable. Abigail probably played a bigger part in it than you, really.

Sitting in the dirt by Charles’ knee, you handed a brush and hair tie back to Morgan when she plopped back at his side. Tiny fingers scritched pleasantly against your scalp as she carefully wove your hair together, huffing whenever she seemed to mess up and start over. When she was done you switched places and a thought occurred to you.

“Oh! You know who’s really good at doin’ hair, bee?” When she shook her hair blankly, you elbowed Charles in the side. “Your daddy’s done some real pretty stuff with my hair before. You wanna let him do it?”

“It’s not that fancy,” he snorted even as he moved to sit behind Morgan. “You’re just terrible at it.”

That got a good chuckle out of you, mostly because it was true.

An accusatory _Ha_! erupted across the fire and Charles and you turned to find John pointing a finger.

“I knew it! You always told me Mary-Beth fixed your hair but the pair of you’d come back from month long jobs with it still done all neat!”

“If you’re jealous, Marston, I can do yours too,” Charles deadpanned at your side, tearing an ugly snort from you as he leaned over to begin carding his hands through Morgan’s thick hair. 

Still chuckling, you took a sip of coffee. “Frankly, John, ‘m amazed you noticed or cared ‘bout something like my hair.”

“I ain’t as dumb as y’all like to think,” he scoffed. “An’ it was before y’all were open about bein’ together. But if _dumb ole John_ picked up on it then y’all obviously wasn’t that subtle.”

“We were never trying to hide anything,” Charles spoke up, halfway done with Morgan’s hair and doing infinitely better than you ever had, strands neatly woven tight and even. “Just because we weren’t lounging around in the open, going at it like Karen and Se-”

He cut himself off, working Morgan’s hair silently. The lighthearted mood was muffled, dampened by the cloying, suffocating memory of people long dead or lost. The only sound was the crack and pop of wood feeding the flames, an appropriate backdrop, as though speaking their names had summoned them. If you listened hard enough, you could almost hear the gentle strum of a guitar floating on the breeze.

“I think Uncle John would look nice with pretty hair,” Morgan piped up unexpectedly, oblivious to the somber mood. 

Uncle’s giggling snort set your own laughter off, John’s pinking cheeks only feeding it.

“Not on your life, kiddo,” he chuckled quietly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Breakfast broke and gave way to a day of work, deciding to finally tear down the shack to make way for the house John had decided on. When everyone quit for the night it was back to tents under the clear sky, which at least offered some illusion of privacy from John’s wisecracks and Uncle’s nosiness, unlike the room-less and open shack.

You’d just slipped into your sleep clothes and loosened your hair when Charles and Morgan ducked beneath the tent flap, a small smile on Charles face in the wake of Morgan’s blinding grin.

“Mama! Daddy told me a story!” 

You noticed the way Charles seemed to jump at the word ‘daddy’, like it took him a second to realize she was talking about him. Granted, it _had_ only been a day and he suddenly had a nearly nine year old daughter. You'd never really seen Charles interact with children before and it warmed your heart that he appeared to be such a natural at it. Groaning dramatically, you sat on your bedroll and gestured them in, Morgan plopping beside you while Charles was changing.

“Oh, really? And what kind of story was it, bee?”

“About how he got Falmouth! He found him up North with a herd and followed them for-”

Morgan fell silent, wide eyes looking up at Charles, who’d removed his dusty shirt to reveal his scarred back. Thick, ropey knife cuts broke up an expanse of long healed shrapnel starbursts, mottled skin from leaping off moving trains or forced dismounts where gravel had lodged deep and had to be picked out carefully once the danger had passed. Sensing eyes, he quickly slipped on a clean shirt and turned back around before coming to sit next to us. Carefully, Morgan leaned over to brush across the splintered scar hooked along Charles’ jaw; more than once today you’d noticed her looking at it.

“What happened?” she asked softly, fingers following the whitish lines. “How’d you get so many spots?”

Charles looked at you before answering like he was seeking permission and found it in your nod.

“Your mama and I, we- we did a lot of things before you were born. Dealt with a lot of bad people that wanted to hurt us. Some of that, we’ll tell you about when you’re older. But this?” he ran a finger along his jaw. “I got when I was hunting a cougar for the first time, all by myself.”

Morgan’s eyes widened at that, difficult questions about the past thankfully forgotten for the moment.

“Did you get it?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

“I’m here, right?” Charles chuckled and poked her shoulder lightly. “I got it, he just took a bite out of me before I did."

That made her smile a bit, the worried furrow between her brows smoothing some. Slipping under her blanket, Morgan tucked herself in between the pair of you to lay back, looking for all the world as though she were asleep until her mouth opened.

"Where are your friends? The ones you helped run away?" 

"They're in Canada, just across the border. They're doing well there."

A small sigh of relief escaped your lips, glad the Wapiti had found somewhere safe after all the hardships they had faced, some of which you had been directly connected to.

"Are you going back to them?"

"Not unless you and your mama are with me," he answered easily, laying down on Morgan's other side to face her.

"They're nice people, bee," you whispered, exhaustion beginning to tug at your eyes. You faintly registered their voices still chattering away, Morgan's soft giggle, Charles deep rumbling chuckle the last thing you heard before sleep pulled you under 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ok, that's it! I'm callin' it!"

You and Charles broke apart swiftly, having been caught for the third time that day by John hiding around a tree and making out like a pair of teenagers.

"Sorry," you whispered, face heating swiftly.

"I respect that y'all want alone time, I jus' don't wanna walk in on it," John grumbled. "Why don't y'all go to town for the night, get a hotel room?"

"What about Morgan?" Charles asked even as his hand skittered up your back.

"Figured I'd let her take up with that wolf pack up by Tall Trees," he scoffed. "She's a good kid, I'll watch her."

"John Marston, volunteering for babysitting," you teased.

"I've watched her before!"

"Yeah, and you looked scared shitless each time," you laughed.

"You wanna go or not?" He groused.

You smiled lightly, having had your fill of teasing.

"Thank you, John. Just- come get us if there's a problem?"

"I'll hold down the fort for one night," John smiled. "You two get outta my hair."

With packs strapped to the horses and instructions for Morgan to be on her best behavior, you and Charles headed to Blackwater. Nerves thrummed through your body, both excited and anxious; you'd never left Morgan in anybody but Abigail's care overnight, and that had only been while you were working at the Geddy's farm.

The two of you rode down the dirt road abreast, close enough that your feet occasionally knocked together. It was barely noon and the high sun beat down against your skin warmly. Rabbits and birds zipped across your field of vision, blurs of movement on the grassy landscape. Right before the turnoff to Blackwater, Charles motioned for you to stop your horse.

"So," he began, eyes wide and innocent, fingers fiddling with his reins. "I know John said Blackwater but you know how I feel about cities, especially that one. I'm guessing you still feel the same?"

"Hate 'em."

He nodded, mouth curving into a wicked smile. "Which is why I brought a tent. There's a nice spot back Tall Trees way, right off the falls?”

“I know the spot,” you nod. “I’ve taken Morgan round there a few times. Race you there?” 

“What’ll I win?” Charles asked cheekily.

“Bold of you to assume, Mister Smith.” You turned your horse tightly, feigning offense. Both animals seemed to be picking up on the crackle in the air, hooves pawing at the dirt and your Trotter crow hopping in anticipation. “But let’s say the winner gets a kiss?”

At his nod, you set heels to your horse and clucked her on without warning, leaving Charles behind in the dust for a brief moment before you heard a loud _hyah_! and the clatter of hooves swiftly gaining ground. Lifting out of the saddle, you lay flat across your huffing mare’s neck and gave another kick. It had been a long time since you’d gotten on a horse and ran just for the hell of it; adrenaline flooded your veins and sent you into wild, carefree laughter as you rounded a bend.

“Cheater!” Charles called even as his Nakota came up beside you.

“You gotta work for it, cowboy!” you cried, giddy with the thrill of the race. 

For a while you were neck and neck, but on the last leg of your race Charles let out a sharp click and Falmouth lengthened his stride even more, seeming to barely touch the ground as he sailed past you. The pair of you skidded to a halt in a small clearing, Falmouth nearly five lengths ahead of you with Charles wearing a cocky smirk as he dismounted. When your feet hit the ground he was there, crowding you against a nearby tree and shoving a thigh between your legs hard enough that your toes barely brushed the dirt, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other wound in your hair. For a second there was only the sound of your combined harsh breathing as pleasant tension hummed between you.

“I won,” he murmured, eyes dilated to near black.

“Seems I owe you a kiss,” you panted, hands trembling against his chest from exhilaration and anticipation.

Charles dipped down to capture your lips in a bruising, electrifying kiss. The forest, the river, everything melted away and all that was left was the feel of him. The hand in your hair yanked your head back in a delicious burst of pleasure-pain. When a moan slipped past your lips Charles took the opportunity to lick into your mouth, coaxing more sound from you when you felt him grinding slightly against your side. Just as your brain was reaching that blissful state of fuzziness where you could barely remember your name he pulled back, wrapping a hand lightly around your throat when you tried to follow his lips with a whine, thumb brushing soothingly against your pulse.

“We should get camp set up,” Charles said casually, as though he didn’t have a knee between your legs and a hot line pressed against your hip. Pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, chaste and sweet, he gave your waist a final squeeze before turning to untack Falmouth.

You stayed against the tree for a moment, legs trembling and chest heaving for a different reason now. Another thing you’d forgotten was these games Charles loved to play, teasing and driving you crazy with need until someone (usually you) snapped. You stood straight from the tree, legs finally steady enough you wouldn’t fall over instantly and breathing somewhat under control.

_Fine. Two can play that game_

While untacking your Trotter, Becca, you loosened the top few buttons of your shirt to bare the swell of your breasts. Leaning over to hobble Becca, you pretended to ignore the sharp inhale you heard in front of you, ducking to hide a smirk under your hat. 

You straightened to find Charles burning a hole into your chest and smiled innocently back at him. He cleared his throat before leaning down to unpack his kit and began setting up the tent. What typically only took twenty minutes for such a small tent seemed to stretch into eternity. The teasing touches and looks probably didn't help, ramping up the tension between you to a fever pitch. You were laying out your bedroll, ass maybe stuck out more than necessary and worn, patchy jeans clinging to your legs like a second skin as you stood. You knew you looked good, had swindled more than one dumb soul out of his full purse while flashing them your assets. 

"Fuck this," came a growl to your left and suddenly large hands were grabbing your ass to lift you into the air before Charles pressed you bodily back onto your bedroll. His hot mouth latched onto your neck to bite and suck bruises into the tender skin, a loud whine leaving you as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. 

“Sing for me, bird,” he murmured against your reddened neck, sending shivers racing down your spine.

The hands still on your ass gripped even tighter to grind your hips together as Charles buried his face in the exposed curve of your breasts and all but tore the buttons off with his teeth; warm, damp breath trapped on your burning skin and stoking the fire higher. Fuck, you’d forgotten how much of an animal he was in bed. Quiet, calm, calculating Charles was a force of nature when he fucked, leaving you aching and tender but always begging him for _more._

“Oh, fuck!” you whined when he took an exposed nipple between his lips, delicious pressure and a hint of teeth arching your back and sending a rush of arousal between your thighs. “Charles, please, please, please.” 

“Tell me what you want, bird,” he panted, switching to lave his tongue over your unabused nipple.

“Touch me!”

“I _am_ touching you,” he said between broad sweeps of his tongue. God, you could feel the smirk pressed into your skin.

“Take my goddamn pants off and fuck me,” you growled, hands now yanking at the hem of his shirt. Even trying to put some venom in your voice, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Charles just laughed lowly, working his mouth down your belly in a hot, wet line as you tore his shirt off and threw it out the tent. Popping the button on your jeans, he stripped your bottom half quickly and fell at your side to rid himself of his own pants. The fine tremble in his hands made you rub your thighs together, trying desperately to relieve the ache between them.

Fuck, you’d forgotten how good his cock looked too, big and thick and practically dripping, soaking his underclothes to sticking onto his skin. Mindlessly, you batted his hands away and leaned down to trail messy wet kisses up his cock, tongue darting out to lap up trails of clear, salty fluid.

The rumbling, breathless groan of your name was almost as good as getting fucked; Charles fingers tightening sharply in your hair to drag your mouth along his length, hips flexing languidly to meet you. As you got lost in the steady rhythm, the up and down and muted gasps, Charles lifted you by the hair off his cock and pulled you back up to his side to trade desperate, biting kisses, like he was trying to lick his own taste out of your mouth.

“Too good, fuck, still so good for me,” he whispered shakily against your swollen lips like a secret.

A rough palm slid between your thighs so thick fingers could dip gently inside you, so close to what you needed but still not enough. You ground down desperately on his hand, crying out loudly when two finally slipped in, Charles thumb brushing your clit teasingly.

“So wet,” he sighed in your ear, fucking another finger into you. “That all for me?”

“You know it is, Charles, fuck, just- please,” you whined. “‘M ready!”

And suddenly Charles was on top of you, solid weight pressing you into the ground like an anchor, heart pounding wildly against yours. His hands found yours, fingers interlaced and tongues sliding together as he took you, swallowing down every whimper and moan and plea. Even when you were slamming each other around and digging fingers in hard enough to bruise, Charles still made you feel cherished, revered, _loved_. It was in the way his thumb swept along your fluttering pulse, how he whispered so sweetly against your skin, put your pleasure before his own.

Blinking out of the fuzzy space you’d been in, you realized that Charles had been saying your name, the heartbeat of his cock still pulsing deliciously inside you but not moving, molten eyes crinkled in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re crying,” he murmured, freeing one of his hands to sweep down your cheek and sure enough, you felt the wetness collecting on his fingers. “Am I hurting you? Is something wr-”

“No! No, god no,” you sniffed through a watery chuckle. “For once, everything is right. I’m so happy. _Please-_ ” you clenched tightly around him “-don’t stop.” 

After searching your eyes for a brief moment, Charles slowly picked up a gentler rhythm, your lips sliding together softly; more a sharing of gasped breaths, neither of you willing to let even air between your bodies now that you were back where you belonged.

For a while the only sounds were your soft, hitching whines, the slick slide of lips and tongue as you lost yourselves in the other’s body, so familiar yet so new again. You squealed when Charles reared back to his knees and dragged you up with him, never missing a beat as he settled you back across his thighs. You were setting the pace now, hips rolling smoothly as you cradled the back of his head, tilting his head back for a breath stealing kiss. 

“Not gonna last long,” Charles gasped into your mouth.

“Me neither. I can’t- ah, right there _right there_!”

Charles had moved a hand down to flick across your clit expertly as he thrust up roughly into you, sending sparks screaming up your spine. A groan rattled his chest when you clenched around him and the fingers in his hair twisted.

“God fuck please Charles,” you whined, ducking to mouth mindlessly at his sweaty neck and rock down to meet his hips.

“Use your words, little bird.” The fingers toying with your clit eased off slightly, still there but not enough to tip you over that edge you’d been so close to.

“ _Please_ , make me come Charles- ah- I want you to make me come, fuck me with that big cock of yours, just plea-” the rest of your desperate whining was lost in a loud cry as clever fingers returned to your clit with deadly precision, the man below you keeping still and watching you ride his dick like you were being paid to do it.

Charles’ hands were talented at many things and sex was no exception. In less than a minute blinding white blurred your vision, warmth crashing from your center to flood out to your fingers and toes. Head clearing, you found you were on your back again, Charles above you and trembling arms caging you in as he languidly fucked you through your peak. Breathless and sated, you lifted a hand to brush across his cheek and cup his jaw. Liquid eyes locked on yours as he leaned into the touch, mouth slacked in a panting gasp.

“You gonna come for me, Alpha?”

An outright _moan_ tore from Charles' mouth at the name, his hips setting a punishing pace even as he burrowed his reddening face into your breasts.

“Told you not to call me that,” he growled

“In front of- _oh fuck_ \- other people. We’re alone, Alpha.” You relished in the way the name sent a shiver down Charles spine.

“Gods, bird. I- I can’t-”

You felt another orgasm coming swiftly and clenched tightly around Charles, wanting to fling him off that peak with you.

“Come for me, Alpha, please please, breed me like a bitch, fuck another baby in me, god _please_.”

Charles came with a sound like he’d been gut punched and sank his teeth into the delicate skin of your collarbone, pushing you over the edge as well. His hips stayed tucked against you to work into a hard grind, wringing every ounce of pleasure from both of you until you were panting and trembling.

For a while you just lay there, Charles weight pressing you comfortingly into the ground as he placed soothing kisses along the angry red bite on your collar.

“Didn’t mean to bite so hard,” he whispered between trailing kisses.

You smiled down at him, punch drunk and floating pleasantly as you carded a hand through his sweaty hair.

“Y’know I like the bruises.” 

A noncommittal hum vibrated against your skin as Charles settled his head on your chest, eyes hazy and droopy. Before you could make a witty comment about men and their stamina, you sank beneath the waves of pleasant exhaustion lapping at the edges of your mind.

The setting sun threw the pair of you in sharp relief against the orange glow of dying light. After a few more rounds of fucking, you’d actually managed to be productive and finish setting up camp, the newly lit fire dancing in the breeze and pushing back the chill of night beginning to creep in. For the past hour, you two had sat and talked, watching the sinking sun as you attempted to fill in the past nine years. A rabbit you’d caught lay over the fire, what little fat it contained dripping into the flames with a quiet sizzle.

“When did you find out?” Charles asked.

You quirked an eyebrow at him as he resolutely stared into the fire.

“Find out what?”

“That you were….. pregnant.”

_Did you know before we got separated?_

“About a week after we left you at the reservation. I thought I was just sick; felt like shit, couldn’t keep food down, couldn’t sleep, snapping at everyone- more than usual, smart ass.” Charles had snorted at that last bit, reflecting on your red hot temper always so close to the surface in those days. “But Abigail just knew, took me to town to see a doctor and didn’t seem shocked at all. She damn near had to pack me onto her horse going back to camp, I was so stunned. Don’t know what I woulda done without her.”

A burning rose behind your eyes as you reflect on those early days, your bright, brilliant daughter still just a terrifying concept in your mind. Abigail had been a shoulder to cry on countless times, before and after Morgan’s birth, the voice of reason when you felt close to losing your mind. You could never repay that debt.

“Gods, bird, I’m so sorry,” Charles murmured, rich brown eyes reflecting the flames. “I never should have stayed.”

You scoffed softly, scooting closer to jam your knees together and lay your head on his shoulder.

“I never shoulda left _you_. We never shoulda messed with the army, fucked over the Wapiti, got in between those redneck families, tried to rob that ferry.” You slipped a hand into his, laced your fingers together. “It’s easy to look back and say what we shoulda done like it was obvious at the moment. You did what was right. S’what makes you, well, you.”

The only answer was the steady sweep of Charles lungs, even and deep beside you. When the rabbit is cooked he plucks it from the spit and divides it on a dented metal plate, leaving you both to chew in silent thought.

“I told Arthur. He was real happy,” you mumbled around a mouthful of meat. “Said you’d make a great dad.”

Charles huffed in disbelief. "I didn't exactly have a great example of one. I don't know the first thing about raising a child."

"And I do? I've been makin' shit up since day one, prolly always will be."

Setting his food aside, Charles situated the pair of you so you were between his legs, his warm chest at your back, and arms crossed over your stomach.

"You've done good with her, what I can tell," he murmured, laying dry kisses onto your shoulder. The blooming bruises beneath your clothes ached pleasantly when his lips pressed on them.

"I- uh. I have something for you." Charles withdrew one hand to fish around in his pocket, the other drumming a rapid pattern against your ribs; a tell of his, speaking to nerves or upset. "Should've given it to you a long time ago but those last months- it was…."

"Crazy? You supplied. "Chaotic? Terrifying?"

A kiss presses into the skin just behind your ear, warm breath tickling your cheek. 

"Yeah."

Charles held his hand in front of you, palm up. In it lay two simple silver rings, reflecting the firelight that threw deep shadows on every scratch and nick, a byproduct of the years in Charles pockets.

The breath froze in your lungs. Hot pins prickled behind your eyes and threatened to close your throat up. The grip you had on Charles' thigh had to be painful with how tight you were squeezing.

"Whe- when did you get these?" Your voice was thick and husky with swirling emotion that threatened to spill wet from your eyes.

"In Valentine, after robbing that Cornwall coach. Remember?" He still held the rings up, a slight shake in his raised hand, the other tapping a runaway tempo against your side to match the pounding in your chest.

"I remember gettin' a rifle butt in the nose 'cause of Bill's stupid ass."

"I saw you go down, thought that bastard was gonna shoot you." The arm around you tightened. "All I could think was that I'd never actually told you how much I loved you, didn't wanna just hope you _knew_. When you pumped that guy full of buckshot and got up, smiled at me with blood all over your face, things were clear to me. I bought them a month later, kept waiting for the right time."

"Think now's a pretty good time," you laughed breathlessly, trembling fingers reaching to take the smaller ring. 

It was warm from Charles' palm and surprisingly heavy. Slipping it on felt right, like it was supposed to be there the whole time and you hadn't realized it was missing until now. Smiling brilliantly, you took the other ring and fit it on Charles finger, a giddy, half-crazed laugh bubbling out of your throat as you turned on your knees to lean over him. His wide smile, a rare treat, was blinding as he pulled you down to knock your foreheads together.

"I meant it, what I told Morgan," he whispered against your cheek. "I'm never losing you again, either of you if you'll have me."

You laughed again, adoration and joy flooding through your veins, lighting a spark in your soul that had been dimmed for so long.

"You're all I've _ever_ wanted, Charles," you said, cupping his scarred cheek, hyper-aware of the cool metal band weighing on your finger. 

Ducking down, you captured his mouth in a chaste kiss as large hands encircled your waist. You didn't know what the future held, didn't have a plan for life beyond waking up beside this man tomorrow and every day after. But you did know that with him, there was nothing the pair of you couldn't do for your daughter or at least do your damnedest trying. So long as you were together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the long in between. So, this kinda got away from me *shrug emoji* and tbh what started out as a one shot is turning into something I'm falling deeply in love with. I'm gonna be turning this fic into a series, with each work being a little slice of the story, not necessarily in chronological order. I'm just outlining now, haven't written anything solid yet because I'm considering making *Reader* into an OC. What do you guys think? I'd appreciate any input you have and hope you stick around!  
> PS- this is tooth rottingly fluffy, even for me. Pls forgive me


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